Taming the Feral Beast
by RC Tiger
Summary: Gregory x OC. Kendra is just an average girl, caught up in a heated romance with a 300 year old vampire. But there's trouble in paradise, as Kendra is forced to make some heavy decisions that will permanently change her life.
1. Chapter 1: When it Rains, it Pours

_**Author's Note:** I assume most readers have never heard of The Little Vampire (look it up on Wikipedia or something), but if you have, this is based on the movie and not the books. And if you have never heard of it, it really doesn't matter,__ because it is basically just a vampire fiction story. The only reason I call it fanfiction is because I am using the characters from The Little Vampire. They will be introduced later. The characters Kendra, Brittany, Ashleigh, and Bill all belong to me._

_**Chapter One: When it Rains, it Pours**_

The forest was silent, save for the sound of raindrops viciously pelting the treetops. I ran through the trails at full throttle, my running shoes sinking centimeters into the moist earth. There were a few stray puddles here and there, but I ran straight through them. My feet were already soggy anyway; they hadn't stood a chance inside my lightweight, breathable shoes. I could hear the water that had pooled in the bottoms of them, squishing in resistance against my pounding legs. I could see a flash behind me out of the corner of my eye, and a sudden crack of thunder spurred me into an even faster pace.

I cursed the weatherman out loud. He had promised clear skies until tonight, a gaudy smile stretching across his face as he boasted some load of bull report insisting on a few small showers after six o'clock, nothing before then. But it had started sprinkling right in the middle of my run. I had thought nothing of it at the time and decided to continue to the end of the trail. Bad decision. The rain got harder and harder until it was a full blown thunderstorm!

I was nearing the end of the forest trail, and I knew I had no choice but to get soaked. The trees had sheltered me for the duration of my run, but within moments I would be running on roadsides until I reached my house. Bracing myself, I darted out of the woods and was greeted with the sensation of raindrops hitting my skin like a thousand cold bullets. I urged my body faster still until I reached my street, and was still panting by the time I ran into the driveway and barreled into the door.

The very first person I saw when I stepped inside was Brittany, my stepmother. I mean literally, she was right in front of my face. "Kendra!" she gushed, "you're a mess! Your father and I were worried sick! What were you thinking, going out in a thunderstorm like that?"

I reached behind my head and began to wring out my auburn ponytail, the water it had held spattered onto the floor in a very satisfying sort of way. The strands that had fallen out of the hair elastic were pasted to the front of my face, and I swept them back indignantly. "Well I didn't exactly _plan_ it. The weather was perfectly clear when I went out."

Ashleigh, my stepsister, poked her head around the corner and grinned. "Nice hair, Kendra. And the outfit too, really cute." Her voice dripped sarcasm. Ashleigh is twelve, and at the stage where she truly believes that she is some kind of tween superstar. Of course it doesn't help that Brittany has showered her with designer clothes and handbags practically since she popped out of her womb.

I glowered at her and was about to tell her exactly where she could stick her opinions, but then my father rounded the corner behind her, his eyes narrowed. "Kendra, for god's sake."

"What?" I put on my most innocent expression and hastily tried to hide the puddle of rainwater I had left on the floor.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Well, where were you and what were you doing? Honestly, you leave after school, no note, no phone call, not even the slightest _hint_ of where you're going, what you'll be doing, who you're going with-"

"Dad, I went out for a run! What else could I possibly be doing on a Thursday afternoon? In this outfit?" I tugged at my sopping wet tank top and running shorts, which were dripping almost as much as my hair.

"Oh, I don't know, meeting friends, hooking up with boys, smoking marijuana…" He leaned forward and sniffed in my general direction to see if I had been partaking in the latter of said activities.

I shifted away. "Dad, come on. Don't you trust me at all?"

He huffed. "I'm sorry, I wish I could. But you're a sixteen year old girl and it's my responsibility to watch out for you." My father paused, looking as though he almost felt guilty. "Well, supper's almost ready. Go clean yourself up. We'll talk about this more later." He paused again, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "And for the record, I don't think you're smoking anything, but I had to check. We'll talk about this later, like I said."

A small sigh escaped my lungs. Brittany leaned forward, her pale hair falling around her face, and patted my wet shoulder. "I'm sorry sweetie, he just cares about you a whole lot, that's all. We all do." She snapped her gum out of habit. It was one of her more annoying ones. Normally I could tolerate it, but today I felt as though I would lash out at her at any moment, which made me feel even worse. Britt is a little ditzy, but lovable and sweet, and only a truly horrible person could find it in themselves to be unkind to her. In order to avoid the event, I brushed away from her and plodded up the stairs to my room, my ponytail leaving a trail of water droplets on the wood floor behind me.

I selected a pair of gray sweatpants and a My Little Pony t-shirt from my pajama drawer, then lurched my way into the bathroom. After locking the door securely behind me, I started up the shower, with water as hot as I could stand. I began to gingerly peel my wet clothes off my body and tested the water cautiously with my finger, pulling it back almost as soon as I had put it in. _Definitely_ too hot! By the time I got the water to the right temperature, I could hear my father calling me from downstairs.

"Kendra, supper's ready in five minutes!"

"Yeah, yeah, wanna wait a minute?!" I knew I'd get an earful for being rude once I got down, but snapping at someone gave me some kind of primitive satisfaction, so I figured it was worth it. My father shouted something else up that sounded vaguely like a reprimand, but I ignored him and stepped primly into the shower. The hot water gave me a pleasant chill as I inhaled warm steam, filling my mouth and nose with its clean taste. Within minutes the whole bathroom was enjoyably humid, enough so I couldn't see much in front of my face but water vapor. I must have spent a good twenty minutes in the misty room, because when I arrived at the table the food looked considerably cold. My father looked annoyed, Brittany looked concerned, and Ashleigh looked livid.

"Kendra, _come on_. We've been waiting, like, three hours for you!"

I snorted. Ashleigh liked to throw the word 'like' in all of her sentences as many times as possible. And she did a decent job of it too. "Aw, quit your griping. As if it's been that long. And besides, I think you could survive for a few hours without food." I retorted.

Ashleigh puffed up and was about to reply, but my father cut in. "Kendra, knock it off and sit down."

I nodded and sat down next to Ashleigh, who responded by edging away as rudely and obviously as she could manage. "Sorry kid, but in case you haven't noticed, this was the only seat left." I was aware of the reproachful looks of my father and Brittany, but chose to overlook them as I reached across the table for the salad bowl.

The table was utterly silent for a few moments, and I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I ate. Then, out of the blue, my father blurted, "Kendra, who is this boy you've met? It's about time you've told me and quit keeping secrets."

I choked on my casserole. "_Excuse_ me?"

Ashleigh burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh yeah right! Like any boy would _ever_ go out with Kendra!"

I fixed her with my most fearsome scowl, but the little brat only laughed harder. Then I turned to my father. "Dad, I haven't been meeting any boys, honest. I've only been out running." I was dead serious about it too. Boys at school mostly left me alone, and the only ones who ever showed interest were the completely undesirable ones. But I chose to leave that little detail out.

"Kendra, you can stop hiding this from me, it's OK. I'd even like to meet this bloke." He paused. "Unless he's some kind of punk or something. Then you'd better forget him, because I do not approve of chains, or skulls, or pants that sit below the waist."

"Dad, I don't have a boyfriend, seriously!"

"Kendra, it's OK if you have a boyfriend!" Brittany exclaimed, brightening. "I had boyfriends by the time I was your age. And Bill, stop interrogating her!"

Ashleigh decided to add her two cents in. "Yeah, come on Bill, I know what boys like, and Kendra is _not _it."

My father raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Both of us looked to Brittany to scold Ashleigh, but the blonde remained as clueless as usual. Britt never punished Ashleigh, and I suppose my father didn't feel quite right about doing it himself. She wasn't his kid after all. But this meant that Ashleigh got away with just about everything, and she relished the fact. At one point she had even made an effort to be polite to me around my dad, but once she learned that she wouldn't get in trouble, the mini-blonde made a point of insulting me whenever the opportunity arose. I expect that she resents her mother's remarriage quite a bit, but it really isn't my fault. And I was nothing but nice to the little snot-nosed twit when I first met her, so why did she choose to take it out on me?

"Dad, if I was seeing someone, I'd tell you. I promise." I stared straight into his eyes, which seemed to reassure him.

He sighed. "Alright, I'll take your word for it." The table was quiet for a few long, dragged out minutes, save for the sound of the four of us chewing and swallowing our dinner. My father and I finished at around the same time, awkwardly avoiding looking at each other as we stood up to clear our plates. When we walked into the kitchen, I looked up to see my dad, his mouth part way open as if he were trying to decide whether to make words come out or not.

"What's the matter dad?"

"Kendra, I don't know if this is the right time to bring this up, but I have something I need to tell you."

I perked up and stared at him. He seemed to grow uncomfortable under my gaze. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Brittany and I have been talking, and well…"

The words that came out of his mouth next can only be described as devastating.


	2. Chapter 2: Good Old Teenage Angst

_**Chapter Two: Good Old Teenage Angst**_

"Brittany and I have been talking, and well… We're thinking about moving, Kendra."

I raised an eyebrow. "Moving? To where?" I tried to remain calm, although his tone of voice suggested that this was going to be much more than just a little move across town.

He massaged his temples, fingers moving in rhythmic circles over the foreshadowing of wrinkles that would one day be prominent on his brow. "As in moving back to the United States. We've been in Scotland for a long time, and there really isn't much here for either Brittany or I. Now the decision isn't finalized, but-"

"Dad, how could you even _think_ about something like that?!" My mouth, which had been unable to do anything but hang open in horror for a moment, had sprung into action. "Scotland is our _home_! We can't leave this house, this is _mom's_ house!" The instant I thought about my mother, tears began to pool behind my eyes.

"Kendra, neither you, nor I, nor Brittany are even Scottish citizens. Our families still live in America. True, your mother loved it down here. But she's gone now, and we need to move on."

I stared at him dumbfounded, wondering how one man could be so heartless. The tears were threatening to escape from my eyes now, so I turned in frustration and booked it up the stairs as fast as I could, not even turning my head when I shouted, "You obviously don't understand!" My voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, which was not exactly the effect I was going for. I could hear my dad starting to follow me, but then he must have thought better of it because the footsteps ceased about a quarter of the way up the stairs.

I slammed the door to my room as hard as I could, just for that lovely, angst-ridden teen effect. After flopping down violently on my bed, I buried my head under my arms and the pillow, and remained deathly quiet for a minute. I almost felt bad for being so dramatic, but there was a hopeful piece of me that prayed my father would change his mind if he saw how effected I was by his little idea. Brittany had apparently joined my father at the bottom of the stairs. I could hear her voice gently scolding him for picking such a bad time to bring this up to me. I felt a swell of affection for the woman; she was always looking out for my wellbeing. But then I remembered that she wanted to move as much as (or maybe even more than) my dad did, and the affection was replaced with a smoldering wave of anger.

When I turned six years old and my father and I were still living with my real mom, not Brittany, my mom had inherited her parents' old house in Scotland. She had lived in Scotland all her life, but had gone to the United States to study psychology. She and my father had met there, and my mom remained in the U.S. with him after their marriage. She must have missed Scotland a whole lot, because she jumped at the chance to move back upon inheriting the house. I grew to love Scotland as much as she did, which was no surprise. We had always been very close and shared a lot of the same thoughts and opinions. But my father had never been quite as happy; the U.S. was _his_ home after all, and he probably missed it just as much as my mother had missed Scotland.

And the fact that Brittany was also an American citizen didn't help anything. After her first husband left her and Ashleigh stranded in their apartment in California, with no job, no money, and no way to pay for clothing, rent, or food, Britt's sister had invited her to come and live in Scotland with her. Brittany would be expected to make an attempt at getting a job, but all the while in the comfort of a cozy little town house without the constant thread of being thrown out into the streets. Her attempts resulted in meeting my father, who had been single for over two years. The two must have really hit it off, although I really never understood their connection myself, because after dating for several years they were married.

Reviewing the facts in my head didn't help like I had hoped it would. On the contrary, it made me feel even worse. I was living with two people who loved America and wanted to move back there, and if they decided to do so, I had no choice but to go with them. I cursed under my breath as I rolled over on my back to stare at patterns on my ceiling. Suddenly there was a knock on my door. I mentally berated myself for not paying attention to my surroundings, a.k.a. being so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't hear my father's clomping footsteps coming down the hall.

"Kendra? Come on, get out of there. There's no need to be so bloody dramatic." He was clearly embarrassed that I had challenged his authority in front of Britt.

I remained silent and still, except for when I made a few obscene hand gestures at him from behind the safety of my bedroom door. He made a huffing noise and I could hear him muttering to himself under his breath. My father _hated_ it when I gave him the silent treatment. I had to choke back a laugh, which took me completely by surprise because I wasn't really expecting to laugh in light of the recent events.

"I never even _said_ we were moving for sure yet. It's just something we have to think about, OK?"

I ignored him again, carefully examining the fingernails on my right hand with false interest.

"Your mother would have wanted us to be happy, you know. She-"

"Well maybe _I_ wouldn't be happy if we moved!" I shouted in disgust, my patience finally lost.

My father threw his hands in the air. "Well I was going to ask you if you'd like to help us look at houses. I figured you were of the right age to have a say in the matter, but I was wrong. You aren't mature at all." He stormed down the hall, and I could picture what he looked like perfectly, hunched shoulders, furrowed brow, arms swinging aggressively, fuming. While I was more like my mom than my father, I had inherited his temper and his tendency to call people names when I was furious. We don't fight often, but when we do it isn't a pretty sight.

I lay there on my bed, anger washing through my body in waves. I considered doing my homework, but that would have involved me going downstairs and walking past my so-called family to get my backpack, so I scratched the idea. Let my teachers get mad and give me a bad grade, who cares? I was in no state to do schoolwork anyhow.

I sat there for what must have been hours, but the time flew by. At nine o'clock I could hear Ashleigh being sent to bed; then my parents followed at eleven. I had turned off my lights at ten thirty, to make it appear as though I too had gone to sleep. Apparently it had fooled Brittany and my father, for they walked by my room without a word. But I was still awake, laying in the dark with my eyes wide open, realizing vaguely how creepy I was being at the time. When the clock struck midnight, I still had no desire to let slumber take over. I decided that I needed to go on a brisk walk outside, and I knew just the place I needed to visit.

So blatantly ignoring the current curfew, I rose and donned a baggy black sweatshirt. I picked up my sneakers in my arms and walked swiftly but quietly down the hall, walking on bare toes in an attempt to make less noise. Once I reached the front door I hesitated, considering for a moment the massive amount of trouble I would get in if I was caught by my parents –or worse, the police– wandering around town at night. I let the thoughts sift through my mind like a wine taster swishes drink around in the mouth, then pushed them to the back of my thoughts, refusing to think about it any longer. Letting my defiant heart lead my head, common sense pushed aside to the copilot's seat, I slipped on my sneakers and slid out the door in one quick, fluid motion. The night air enveloped me, embracing my presence as much as I embraced it. Hoping my father hadn't heard the door close, I broke off into a trot down the street. It was time for me to pay a little visit to my mother's grave.


End file.
